


Not yet - but soon...

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4151805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius Malfoy has got the most rotten luck ever - that, along with a crush on his very straight best friend, a father eloping with the wizarding prodigy, and a barking mad Weasley in his bedroom. Go figure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not yet - but soon...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dlblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlblack/gifts).



> This was meant as a gift-fic for the birthday of my talented friend daleah a.k.a. [dlblack](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dlblack/pseuds/dlblack), who always shares her wonderful art with me most generously - but her b-day has been long over and I'm late, as usual. Sorry, babe! It's my first next-gen and yeah... I'm still learning, don't eat me alive, I'll try to do better next time. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful mind of JK Rowling, I play for fun, not profit...

Fuck.My.Life! Like, seriously. That's the only thing that goes through my mind while I slam the door to my _ Gryffindor – _Gryffindor!!_ See what I mean with fuck-my-life?! - dorm. Of all the idiotic, obnoxious, mortifying, appalling and... you know, other terrible things my father could have done to come out, he chose _this_?! Snogging Harry-fucking-Potter in public?! At the Ministry party!!! For all the bloody world _and_ Rita Skeeter to see! Like, seriously?!?

And then that wonder-fucker of Al's dad has the audacity to mumble _“Oh, Merlin... about bloody time, Malfoy, it's only 20 years over-due!”_ \- and he says that straight into my father's mouth before he disapparates them and they haven't showed up from their fuck-hole, where ever that is, for nearly a week! Seriously, just how sex-starved can two fossils be?!

Oh, and their timing was bloody perfect, too, horny old pervs! Just when I was almost getting somewhere with Al; beautiful, shy, perfect Al, my very best, very straight – see, fuck my life! - friend of the past six and a half years; rightfully mine Albus Severus Potter, whom I've had the most impossible crush on since... well, forever! I mean, it's not like Al was ready to go steady, well, no... but he did very nearly return my kiss a week ago, when I got him so drunk he tried walking on his hands! He might have called me _“Sylvia”_ and tried to persuade me to put on that _“boobies-out dress”_ \- but it's not like I love my name much and I would have found something boobies-out in Rose's closet if that got me his attention! I would have gotten there eventually! Just give me a few months... or decades, whichever, I could have done it! And now it's all ruined!

Since those insatiable ageing farts of our fathers disappeared god-knows-where to fornicate out 20 lost years of frustrated sexual desires, Al and I have barely been able to walk by each other's side! It feels like bloody incest if I incidentally hug him across the shoulders and I'm here, abusing the poor ole door, because that slimy wanker Zabini used the lunch break to yell at us across the schoolyard:

“Malfoy, you seriously need to stop drooling over Potty; aren't you two, like, brothers now?”

Against a howl of laughter from the slithery greens, of course, and if Rosie, my beautiful, loyal, other best friend Rose Weasley didn't hit them all with Bat Bogey Hex so big and vicious that it made them float in the air when the wind caught it, I would have probably been expelled – I think he might have accidentally activated my Death Eater gene.

Poor Al went Weasley red – and that's saying something for this Harry Potter carbon copy – and disappeared somewhere down to Middle Earth, it seems, because I haven't been able to find him and I was no good to attend any class anymore, so I just ran here to hide and – _bloody hell!_

“It has anti-cracking charm on it, but yeah, just give me a week, I'll sort it out, I'm working on it,” a calm, warm voice says and it's coming from Al's bed - only it isn't Al's and excuse me, while I peel my poor shell-shocked self from the ceiling where I all but landed on all fours like an agitated cat upon hearing an unknown voice in the supposedly uninhabited bedroom.  

After the first shock, though, I figure out that the bodiless voice isn't at all that bodiless and not at all unknown. In fact, I know it well enough. But what on Merlin's curvy Earth is _he_ doing here?!

Hugo Weasley, Rosie's younger brother - the biggest menace that this respectable school has ever had the misfortune of hosting according to the despairing Headmistress McGonagall and a bunch of infuriated, singed old portraits - has no business and no means of entering the seventh-year-dorms. Not that this has ever stopped Hugo before, no. You see, there is no doubt of Hugo's genetic relationship to the legendary Weasley twins and how was he _ever_ sorted a Gryffindor is anyone's guess – some say he bullied the Sorting Hat into doing his bidding. In any event, I think that dear old Salazaar is turning in his grave like a pig on a spit for missing _that_ crown jewel in his house.

This poor ancient school has been a testing ground, a collective guinea pig of sorts, for every invention that Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes has ever come up with, ever since that particular shop began employing Hugo's dad, the somewhat notorious Ron Weasley – a man _“as dumb as he is unscrupulous and vindictive”_ according to Father; only there's a slight problem with this verdict: Father is most likely just jealous. Namely, the said Weasley Senior, an acknowledged inter-continental chess champion, also happens to be Harry Potter's best friend and, well - since the unfortunate events from a week ago, we – that would be the entire wizarding galaxy - all know how my father feels about that one!

And when it comes to Hugo - I guess the only reason McGonagall revokes her resignation letter to the school board six times every year is, that Hugo's mother is very inconveniently the youngest Minister in the history of Wizarding England... and well, because he's just bloody brilliant, isn't he? Try as they might, the teachers just _cannot_ make him fail a single class and even if he very obviously never bothers to open any school book, he has something Rose refers to – jealously, if you don't mind me saying so - “eidetic memory” and he does well enough just by occasionally doing his homework and faithfully attending the classes. And he does that with much enthusiasm, much to the chagrin – and fright! - of every respective teacher in charge. Hardly a week goes by without a full-school evacuation because one of Hugo's experiments in the class has gone _“slightly awry, no worries, I plan to do better next time”_ , if you believe his words. He's lost us so many House points we might have to borrow them from other Houses, so he could lose us some more!

So excuse me, if I'm a tiny bit worried about the future of the poor dorm door he had promised to _“work on”_ \- the pathetic board's days are probably numbered, regardless of how invincible it feels right now. Luckily, that's the least of my concerns; it's not like I'm the janitor around here, mind you, and I've got far more important things on my mind; you know, like the doom of a certain Slytherin, the conquering of a certain irresistible Gryffindor and well – as pissed off as I am, patricide does come to mind. But first I need to get rid of him, Hugo. Tactfully so, if you don't mind, I god-honestly have no desire to be experimented upon for the rest of my school-days.

“What are you doing here, freckly?”

Erm, perhaps not so tactfully so afterwards, no... I feel the hairs on my neck prickle under the perusal of those piercing blue eyes, but he doesn't move from the bed and his hands are still safely parked underneath that fiery head as he lies stretched across Al's bed in all his gangly glory. No hands in motion, no wand in sight - good, that's good, that means no immediate danger. But Merlin the Merciful, this is one long creature! His legs are practically endless and I already know that he's taller than I in spite of a year's difference. Everything on him is long, the arms, the neck, I wonder... oh, motherfuck, no, where did that blasphemous thought come from, oh, yuck...!!! I wasn't just thinking that! No. I wasn't. Not the right boy, you stupid, fried egg of a brain!

“Hiding, I suppose,” he finally answers in that warm, low voice he has, and for some reason my eyes are drawn towards the mouth saying the words – and much to my surprise I notice that it's pretty; Hugo Weasley has very... yeah... pretty mouth. Plush and all that other… pretty stuff.

“You know, just lying low until the storm passes,” he shrugs and gives me one of those boyish, nearly shy, brilliant smiles that hide perfectly what a deadly monster he is. Then he's suddenly sitting up, he throws those long legs over the side of the bed and because Al's bed is right next to mine, he stares straight into my face and startles me stupid.

“Merlin, man,” I murmur and try to keep my cool, but go on, _you_ try to stay calm when a boy with a long history of destructive behaviour, who just happens to have a giant somewhere in the line of his ancestors, looks at you with his supernaturally blue eyes from so up close you can feel his warm breath on your neck. He's... intimidating and... distracting. His height is and those broad Keeper shoulders are and those eyes, oh, those eyes... erm, yeah, where was I? I kind of forgot my name a bit just there.

“The question is...” he continues, those... distracting, deep-blue eyes unrelentingly glued to my face, “...what are you doing here?”

I look at him frowning, clearly missing the point – it's my dorm, my bed, what could he possibly be on about?

“It's the middle of the bloody day, Malfoy,” he explains patiently, as if to a slightly demented child. “You're not known for slacking; in fact, I don't think you've ever missed a single lesson without a handy excuse at hand; you're right up there with Rose in effort and results – so what are you doing in your dorm, in the middle of the day, when you should clearly be attending one of the super-important lessons on mating habits of Mountain Trolls your life would be incomplete without, hm?”

Oh, that... Annoying little fucker, what does he want to know that for?! And how does the stalking little creep know my schedule?!

“None of your business, tiny,” I tell him as coldly as I could muster, secretly wondering at my reckless audacity – I swear this Malfoyian thing I have going for me is going to be the death of me one day!

“Kindly mind your own pathetic life, if you please,” I try to hold on to my own; only this game I play very abruptly stops working when he suddenly, unexpectedly flashes the world's most brilliant, most predatory smile straight into my face and I think my breath might have temporarily been suspended by the blue lightning bolts in those incredible... no, not incredible, but you know... of fuck it! - incredible eyes.

“You know... my dad did it,” he says matter-of-factly, as if merely stating a random fact and as stunning, no, not... of fuck it, stunning he is up close, he makes less sense than a Dementor in a tutu.

“Huh?” I ask intelligently, cause you see, that's about all the wit I'm left with after my brain was irreversibly fried by that killer poetry of a smile.

“The thing your father did to Uncle Harry,” he explains patiently, once more attempting to spell out the individual words, because all of my considerable brain has clearly gone missing in action in the course of our five-minute conversation. The thing Father did to Harry Potter... whatever is he on about... oh... he can't mean that... he can't possibly...?! Is the _entire_ family mad?!

“Dad's always been a bit bonkers, according to mom,” Hugo continues to explain pleasantly, as if he was only talking about the latest fashion in Quidditch kneecaps gear and not about the apocalyptic events at the Ministry dinner. “Though, of course, he prefers a term _“innovative approach”_. I overheard them arguing and I guess he was _really_ tired of watching Uncle Harry mop about after Aunt Ginny decided that calling her _“Draco”_ during their more carnal activities really wasn't her thing...”

At this point I just stare at him with my mouth most inelegantly gawping and without a single thought to spare... apart from a very resounding, panicked “WHAT?! WHAT?!” that must be written all over my face... The mental imagery alone, oh, Merlin, please, have mercy...

“So, because he's... - well, let's call him adventurous, since this is my dad and it won't do to call him crazy - since my dad is _very_ adventurous, he decided that the boring Ministry reception was as good a time as any to slip your father some of the _“True love”_ potion they've been developing with Uncle George at the WWW – and considering the result, I suspect it _might_ have been untested on top of everything. But it's just as well – it worked like a charm! Your father went on a “Spice up your life – hump your enemy!” world tour with Uncle Harry, whom didn't seem to object none too loudly – unless _“Draco, oh, fuck, yeah, finally...”_ or some such, counts as an objection - I really wouldn't know, I've only just turned 16 and mom says I've got no life experience,” he concludes happily and looks at me with those brilliant blue eyes straight in the face and right at the bottom of them, under the innocent blink, there is that vicious intelligence that makes him infamous and makes him look as if he's having an obnoxious amount of fun.

I was right. The whole family _is_ mad. Except for Rosie. She's very possibly adopted.

“Shut up,” I barely manage and I don't even care if he's turning me into Frankenstein next. “You're all crazy, the whole fucking family of yours is barking...! Must be those bloody freckles, you're all diseased or something...”

Look, I know it's lame, but at the moment this is the only thing I can think of that smells of protecting my father's virtue... and more. You don't know my father like I do; he's so... vulnerable under all that smirking, snarky exterior. And if this was just a prank of crazy Weasley elder... and Father will eventually come to his senses and end up heartbroken over the loss of his dignity in public and... over a certain Potter...

That's it; as soon as I pass my N.E.W.T.s I'm getting a summer job murdering Ron Weasley! It shouldn't be hard; I'll make it look like an accident... The latest model of Malfoy here, hello?! If anyone can pull it off, I can!

“It's not called _“True love”_ for nothing, you know,” Hugo speaks almost gently and I notice that he's still staring at me with those deep blue, unreadable eyes of his as if he's trying to see under my agitated shell. “It only works with true feelings, you know - lowering inhibitions, boosting courage and such rot. It can't evoke something that's not there. My dad might be a bit bonkers, but he's not a vile man and he was smart enough to know that Uncle Harry would never forgive him if this went awry and your father wasn't interested... So he took a chance with your dad instead – and this was either going to be a thing of beauty or a total disaster of epic proportions. But dad knew he couldn't lose: luck is Harry Potter's little bitch; things have a way of working out for him and my dad was putting all his eggs – and possibly his own balls, when my mum found out – into that particular basket. Crazy brave, my dad.”

He sounded so ridiculously proud of his clinically insane father that I had no heart to break it to him that his precious sire was probably a prank or two like this one away from the closed department of St. Mungo's. Granted, it _did_ work, as crazy as it was – but it had also ruined my life and all that domestic happiness I was going to have with Al, so yeah - fuck the freckled fuckwit Senior, he was still doomed!

“I could get you some to try on Al, if you like.”

He spoke so quietly that I barely heard him, but when the content of his words finally hits home, my heart speeds up something crazy. He could... and he would... I know he would... only - I don’t know why and you don’t play with Hugo Weasley unless you know every last card he has – and still there is a chance he's going to cheat and you're going to lose. But, oh, the possibilities...

“Shut up,” I say weakly and because I've come embarrassingly close to giving into the temptation, I add more assertively: “Go away, you insane freak! Isn't there something you should be blowing up?! Go on, fuck off, or I swear I'll alert McGonagall and let her unleash her fury on you for whatever mental thing you've done this time!”

Unfazed; he's completely unfazed, I can tell, he might as well shrug. So much for my legendary Malfoyian intimidation skills; my grandfather Lucius would probably feel the need to headdesk. But... there's a strange untamed glow in Hugo's eyes all of the sudden and I swallow. Something wicked this way comes, I can tell.

“Not that it would do you any good, you know,” he continues so calmly as if he wasn't even paying attention to my words, as if nothing I've said ever touched him in the slightest. “You could feed it to him a gallon a day and still he wouldn't choose you. He'd love to love you; I know he would... but he just _can't_. He doesn't swing that way, you know that. But... Merlin knows I'm not going to be the one to tell you to quit hoping...”

Perhaps there's a tiny hopeless sigh at the end of his words and something in those bluest of blue eyes that borders on reckless despair – but his words knocked the wind out of me and now all my contradicting feelings come back in a rush and with a vengeance and I'm too angry and hurt to give a fuck.

“Would you piss off already, you evil little shit!” I shout at him and somehow, Merlin knows how – cause, fuck my life, yeah? – my eyes are instantly full of tears and... I'm _not_ going to cry in front of this redheaded demon, I'm not! The cruel, demented little bastard, what does he know?! Al loves me, yes, he does, he's just really slow in discovering it, yeah, and I'll get there eventually and... only I won't. My vision is swimming and the image of the mean creature before me is blurred and I try to get rid of the bloody inconvenient, fucking tears shedding my weakness just when I need it the least, because...

I might look like my father, alright? - but I don’t have his Slytherin heart and I don’t have his self-restraint and this whole cynical dignity thing I have going for me is just a fucking mask and I’m this fucking... stupid Gryffindor underneath! The first one in a thousand years of the Malfoys, as my grandfather never fails to mention with pale, pursed lips; a terribly wretched, forever hopeful Gryffindor, who wears his heart on his sleeve and cares so little about the family feuds that he managed to fall in love with the son of his father’s adversary... who isn’t his adversary at all, as it comes out – but whatever he is now is so much worse, because I still can’t have my Al, yeah, because _my_ Al is so bloody _not_ interested in boys and not so very mine after all and... I HATE MY FUCKING LIFE, ALRIGHT?!

Before I know it I’m pressed against a warm body and a shirt that smells of male musk and pine soap and comfort - and I try to fight it, to fight him, to beat that terrible malice out of his chest with my fists - or perhaps it was honesty that made me spill my disappointment; not that it matters, no... Because I hate, hate, _hate_ Hugo Weasley right now – and I can’t help but to be a tiny bit grateful that he’s there for me when I’m so fucking shattered and my whole bloody world lies in ruins.

He doesn’t say anything for the longest time; he just holds me tight and lets me slam my fists against his chest... and he's wonderfully tall and protectively stretched around me and his very skin breathes warmth and magic while those long narrow hands slide smoothly, all comforting down my spine - and slowly, gradually, I’m a bit better and my sniffling subsides.

“Do you know why I’ve been sorted to Gryffindor?” he finally asks, his voice soft and dark; and this day is already so crazy and impossible that I don’t even wonder at the seemingly unrelated question. But I don’t want to talk about my crushed hopes and anything else seems better, so I take up his game and shake my head tiredly. Not that I really care, but let him talk.

“I never told anyone...” he says and he sounds embarrassed, almost surprised at himself to be saying that. “Everyone just assumed it was because I’m a Weasley and that’s where Weasleys go... It’s just that – well, the Sorting hat was really quite desperate to put me in Slytherin and even though I knew I’d fit in like a hand into a glove - I asked it not to...”

He pauses a little and his hands, sliding down my back, stop as if he’s on a threshold of letting go - of me, of some awful truth, I really don’t know...

“I asked it to put me where it put _you_ instead... and finally, after some... persuasion, it complied,” he says simply at long last and there’s a strange sort of sadness echoing through his voice as if he knows he made a decision that cannot make him happy. It takes me a moment to realize what it all means and then I freeze in his embrace, all my muscles tense in the grip of recognition – and then I squirm as if I can’t wait to get out of his arms soon enough, my world suddenly off and tilted to the side; and I want to be able to look into his face as he says those words, opening himself up for me so freely to be hurt and mocked - and how is he’s so bloody fearless about it, I’ll never know.

But as strongly as he held me throughout my forceful rebellion against his chest, his arms now dissolve immediately, as if he doesn’t want to keep me next to him against my will, now, that I know... and when I do look up into those sapphire eyes of his, alight with brilliance of sadness he never spills, those long, strong fingers are suddenly cupping my face and before I know it he presses the lightest, warmest kiss in the corner of my mouth and whispers softly:

“You're not the only one, dreaming an impossible dream, Malfoy...”

And then he’s gone; if I didn’t know better I’d say he disapparated, because I literally don’t see him leave, as if he was only ever an illusion and I swear I barely blinked... And I just sit there, collapsed on my bed; I don’t know what to think, I don’t know what to feel, because it’s all just a giant mess inside and I might have just died a little at his words, at his touch...

“He’s just fucking with you... You’re an idiot,” I try to tell myself, repeatedly, but it doesn’t stick, nothing does... just the image of those blue eyes up close, the softness of his mouth, the incredible sweet smell of his fiery hair tickling my skin and the warmth of his embrace I suddenly end up missing and I shiver...

You know, I’ve been saving myself for Al. I never tried anything else with anyone else, not even to make him jealous. For me it was always only going to be Al – or... I had no other options; no one else ever came into view. I’m such a bloody Gryffindor, loyal to a fault and well... just stupid and blind like only a true Gryffindor could be, I suppose. I kept everyone at bay with my snark and my exclusive friendship with Al, but for all my impeccable breeding and finesse, I’m a proper teenage boy and occasional desperate kiss I stole from him was nowhere near enough to release me from the sudden bursts of lust. So I wanked. A lot. And then some more; I fucking nearly wanked myself raw imagining all those wonderful, filthy things we’d get up to with Al once he came to his senses and we’d be together – and yet it never felt anywhere so oddly _real_ as that single kiss from a crazy redhead did. All my dirty fantasies – oh, they were dirty, I assure you! – suddenly feel distant and merely like a boy’s dream compared to that one touch of soft, warm lips setting my skin on fire. I touch the corner of my mouth with my fingers and though I can’t really feel anything, it feels as if it still bears a touch of his magic. As if I was kissed by the small, wet sun-ray.

I’ve had enough of this day and I’m such a mess I’m not even hungry. So I opt for not going to the Great Hall, even though I know it’ll upset Rosie – but she has her ways of finding out where I’m at and right now, I’m in no state to show my tear-swollen face to the world. So I strip and climb into my bed quickly and I must be exhausted, because I barely blink before I'm dosing away. And – because, fuck-my-life, remember? - I dream of blue eyes staring down my soul and the warm breath that makes my skin shiver and those soft lips closing in on me - and I wake up as hard as rock.

Fuck... I don't need this... I so don't need this. Only, my stupid body totally disagrees and ignores my brain's desperate pleas not to wank to the thought of someone that isn't Al, so this is totally happening and I seem to have no say in it. Before I know it, my hand is wrapped around my cock and I'm pumping like there's no tomorrow, fantasizing - with no remorse yet – of how would those wide Keeper shoulders look shirtless, if his nubs were pink or dark and easy to excite and if he really has that vicious, nibbling, dragon-shaped nipple-ring Rose told me about... And when my imagination hits that toned torso, arched backwards, and those sun-kissed freckles disappearing into the unzipped trousers together with his hand, inviting... and bulging... I shoot so suddenly and so hard I literally see black and I don't think... no, I _know_ for certain, I've never come so hard in my life. I barely have any breath left and I think I must have yelped.

This... was different. Hugo was different and now, that I'm finally coming around, coming down from my ecstatic hype and there's that familiar boneless warmth spreading down my body, the panic creeps in and I'm afraid of my own needs and of those unknown, uncontrollable feelings I don't want to have. Ever since my dad disappeared with the Saviour, my world was barely standing on its suddenly wobbly feet. And what I think kept me together, was Al. Al was facing the same predicament I was – or so I liked to imagine. Al was good and still here and my best friend for all times... and safe and reliable... and the first person I've come out to and was cool about it. He was the stuff the dreams were made of... and that seemed to be the gist of the problem. Al was my dream, while Hugo... Hugo was for real and that scared the shit out of me.

He was... too much, the chaos, the unknown, a wild card. He was this fearless creature who cared nothing for my cold attitude and icy exterior and cut straight to the real person underneath. He was tangible, hands-on and clearly didn't mind getting physical – there was no going too far with Hugo like there was with Al. I imagined my life with Al in a thousand and one way while day-dreaming – and I just knew Hugo would knock me off my feet, whatever my expectations. He was not... a safe option, he could hurt me in ways Al never would and... no. I wasn't going to think about Hugo anymore, he was... terrible.

Besides – what was I even doing comparing the crazy redhead I barely spoke to before this mad, bad day – and my Al?! Al would win every time! He was prettier! He was kinder! He was.... well, normal, while Hugo most decidedly wasn't; nope, not even on the same side of the spectrum. Al was safe and good and someone definitely worth crushing on – after all, half of this school did it, and half of the school could barely be wrong, could it?! Al was someone worth working for, trying for a bit longer, going an extra step and perhaps one day... yeah, one day. I'll get there!

Riding a fresh wave of energy I cast a _Tempus_ , see that it's nearly time for dinner and that if I take a quick shower, I should be just in time. While standing under a hot spray I try very hard not to think of anything, anyone in particular, but I’m a teenage boy, for fuck’s sake and I can’t seem to stay under a spray of hot water, thinking about soaping myself, without getting a hard-on. I would normally just give in, close my eyes and think of Al, of that lean Seeker body he has and bright green eyes and that killer enthusiastic smile – only now I’m dead frightened of what my fucked up brain could come up with. What if it’s not Al, what if it’s...? Fuck. I’m screwed if I do and I’m screwed if I don’t, I can’t just walk out of the shower with a towel around my waist, sporting a fucking Hippogriff hard-on like a common pervert! This is a school, for fuck’s sake! People would run and scream at the sight! Well, Hufflepuffs might. The little ones.

So with a sigh, I give in. I might as well. If anything, the bloody root I’m hung with got even harder while I was thinking. I touch it experimentally and I’m instantly reminded that I like this, that I love it, love the way it weighs heavy in my hand, love the way I can feel the blood prickle and surge underneath the sensitised skin while I push it through the ring of my own fingers and... oh... how good it would feel if I could slam it down his mouth... just bloody perfection... such big, generous, hungry mouth, made for taking an obnoxious length of cock in and just suck on it like he needs it, like I need it, the way I’ve been dying to have and I never could because... not the right boy... but this one is, this one would, he’d go all the way with me, I know he would, he never stops at anything, he’d fuck me right into the fucking wall and he’d keep fucking me until I’d scream his name... only his name... Hugh, oh, bloody hell...!!!

When I come to my senses, I find myself collapsed against the shower wall in a world most undignified position and my cock is still leaking thin streams of come as if it couldn’t get enough of idea of being fucked into the wall by a monster that is Hugo Weasley. And I’m mortified, of course I am. I'm a Gryffindor, I'm defined by being faithful – so how is it, that it only took a single kiss, a little more than a peck, to replace the image of the boy I've been crushing on for ages, with this one, an inappropriate one, a terrible one!? Just how horny and in need of attention am I to let one bloody kiss - a chaste one, when Hugo Weasley is considered – completely fry my brain and turn it around and make me dream of someone who's obviously a god-awful choice – but someone I could actually have?! And that was as breathtaking as it was exciting – and downright petrifying.

Oh, Merling the sockless - I am pathetic and despicable and I should totally be ridiculed and despised. I guess I'm a Malfoy after all, we're all about shifty allegiances. Bloody hell... Grandfather Lucius might actually be proud this once. Or, more likely, he would very promptly decide to bid farewell to this rotten world upon setting his eyes on Hugo _Weasley_ – Hugo is... yeah, Hugo would give a stronger man a heart-attack.

And why, if you please, am I still stuck in a bathroom stall, wasting time thinking about the natural disaster that is Hugo Weasley?!  When I should be downstairs, in the Great Hall, trying to patch up things with my Al! Seriously, one chance meeting with Hugo and I'm nearly as demented as he is! Right, time for action! I get ready as fast as my scattered brain allows it, constantly jumping in directions it has no business going to, like – Is he going to be there? Do I look better with a shirt neatly tucked in or a bit on the wild side, hanging out? Does he like tussled, not-yet-quite dry hair? Does he even like blonds? Does he even still like me?

That thought kind of slows me down considerably. He was sorted ages ago, nearly six years... and he never explicitly _said_ that he liked me... no, I just imagined the rest... because of the kiss... well, not really a kiss, just a peck, really... bloody hell...

Alright, I need to stop right there – what am I doing?! I don't even care about Hugo-fucking-Weasley.. or him kissing me... or pecking me... or whatever! Honestly...! I shouldn't, anyway. It's _Al_ , brain dearest, it's Al I care about, do I need to spell it out to you, you sorry chicken pâté?! For fuck's sake...

Before I finally let the stupid goo in my head run me around the bend, I rush out of the crime scene... er, dorm bedroom... and I rush back in, because I forgot my wand and if I see Zabini, some serious damage is due, and I see myself in a reflection of a window and I even _look_ like a mess. Good. I should make sure I look like The Bloody Baron tonight, maybe he... you-know-who... will stop tempting me! Al... it's Al I need to think about and to find and to focus on. Only – my brain today is like this stubborn two-year-old having a tantrum and not listening to anything I have to say and the first thing it makes me do when I enter the Great Hall is to look for the fiery head... To avoid him, of course, yeah, good thinking for once, you blasted scattered thing... I need to locate him and then avoid him for the rest of the evening... and the rest of the school year. 

It's not hard, he's taller than most... and now that I have a moment to watch him unobserved I take that moment to drool. He's... not bad looking, not bad looking at all... That long plait of fiery hair sliding down his endless neck like a silken snake of molten red gold... the porcelain skin and a golden spray of freckles across the strong nose and that soft, delectable mouth that gave me a kiss... Merlin in a golden pyjama, I'm so fucked! And those eyes, they're so... no they're not. Something is wrong.

I can tell immediately, only by looking at him, though I god-honestly cannot remember ever looking at him before this day. But he's not sitting with his friends and occasional worshippers; he's not laughing and teasing and stuffing himself as if he has hollow legs – no. Today Hugo Weasley sits at the end of the Gryffindor table, alone, and he doesn't even look at me; in fact, he doesn't look at anyone. He stubbornly stares at his plate, still empty, except for the single pea he's chasing around with his fork distractedly – and he looks pale, strangely calm and composed and... well, miserable. There's nothing on his usually so vibrant face communicating how he feels; his expression is empty, as if wiped clean of all feeling – yet I simply know how very devastated he is, as if I can somehow feel him across the whole long Great Hall. The light in him is gone.

But before I could force myself to snap out of my obvious staring, turning downright obnoxious, there's a _“Oh, here you are... I was beginning to worry”_ coming from behind my back and before I know it, there's Al, my Al, my unreachable, straight Al, casually slipping his hand into mine, just the way I imagined him for the better part of the six-and-a-half years, leaning into me as if he needs to be close to me all of the sudden – and he slowly, deliberately presses a warm, moist kiss just under my ear. And I feel absolutely nothing.

No excitement, no rush of blood into embarrassing places, not even a shock. Because at that moment Hugo Weasley gets up from the table abruptly and leaves, carefully taking the longer route around not to pass us by. And that look – blink and you'll miss it – that tiny flash of absolute misery in those desperate, sky-blue eyes before he turns away from us, might have just crushed my heart into a bloody mess.

But now he's gone and I've got myself Al, the very boy I've been pining for hopelessly ever since I noticed I owned a heart; Albus Severus Potter is hanging on my arm and he's looking at me expectantly, with stars in those forest-green eyes of his as if he's perfectly aware what a precious gift he just gave me. Only... I no longer seem to want it. Because my life is fucked this way. This, here, is my dream come true; Al and I, hand in hand and he just kissed me in front of the whole school. So why do I feel so terribly, ungratefully agitated and restless, as if this is somehow... wrong. My Al could never be wrong – but I only have to look at Rosie's face across the table and she's not smiling, as I knew she would if this was a real thing; she's frowning instead and there's something nearly resentful in her eyes when she glances at Al.

I can't get to the bottom of this with all the eyes in this damn, scandal-craving school on us, so I keep a strong grip on Al's hand and I drag him with me to the Gryffindor table and politely wait until we’re both seated behind a table across Rosie, so I can lean into him as if I only wanted to kiss his cheek and ask as discretely as I can manage:

“What.the.fuck, Al?! Did someone hex you?!”

He’s pouting now and some nearly forgotten part of my brain recognises that it is the most adorable thing ever – only I don’t care for it right now, I want answers; my heart beating madly in my neck does, because I might just be on a threshold of making a move, passing a decision that will change the way my world turns.

“I thought this was what you wanted,” Al says quietly, perhaps not to attract attention, or perhaps he’s genuinely hurt, I can’t tell and I can’t be bothered to find out. “I thought we could have a go at it, try it for a bit, experiment a little, because, you know... you want it and I - I don’t know what I want,” he says with an embarrassed, shy smile and I could slap myself in the face for no longer craving this, for no longer wanting to jump at the chance I could never even have dreamed of this morning. But I’m not the same person I was this morning. That boy haven't left the tear stains on Hugo Weasley’s shirt yet and he wasn’t the recipient of the world’s smallest, most heartbreaking kiss.

“Why now?” I ask, because I feel like a fickle fool for not drooling all over him in delight after I’ve been longing for this for so long and so obviously, and I try to delay the inevitable moment when I have to make a decision.

“Because,” he shrugs and by the focused look in his eyes I can tell that he’s trying to come up with a more legit answer. So I wait quietly and finally he speaks, sounding strangely embarrassed and stubborn all in one:

“Because our dads left us both in this mess and... you know, I think if I don’t give you a chance now, I’ll maybe come to regret it later. He says...”

“Who says?!” I break through his words and I don’t even care if it’s rude and Malfoys don’t do rude. By the panicked look in his eyes I see I’m on to something and I press on viciously, like a proper snake I am underneath, sinking its fangs deeper: “Who says – and what, Al?! Who put you up to this?”

“It was Hugo,” I finally get my answer and it was Rose that spoke. She stares at Al with her stormy blue eyes, looking every bit as stern and adamant as her mother Hermione Granger Weasley in one of her public addresses, and I focus on her, knowing full-well I can guilt her into telling me.

“He came looking for him earlier,” she tells me quietly, angrily. “You know how he gets. He cornered Al, told him that he humiliates you by jumping three feet in the air every time you touch him; that you two should stick together now that your fathers have left you in a jam... and that you’re very likely the best he’ll ever get and that he should at least give you a chance, that he owes you as much! Slimy, manipulative little bastard... I can’t believe he’s my brother! I told Al that this is a rotten idea, I told him right away, but I guess...” she glances at Al with her astute blue eyes and I can see this is hard on her – “... I guess he must have been thinking some such before and he kept it to himself,” she says suddenly very softly. “He thinks he owes you a go, even if it comes down to nothing in the end, as it inevitably will; even if he already knows he doesn’t feel that way about you.”

Al looks mortified. He just stares in front of himself, as pale as his olive skin would have it, and doesn’t even dare to look at me.

“Al,” I call him as gently as I can and finally he pays me a scared, desperate look.

“I only wanted to make you happy,” he confesses at long last and his tiny voice breaks my heart.

“I know!” I say quickly, angry at myself that I ever caused him sorrow when he only tried to do good by me. “I know that, Al... but think, please... For me, this is not just about sex, it’s about my heart... and it would have been cruel, alright?”

“Yeah...” he says miserably and then looks at me bravely and blurts out assertively: “But I already love you... very much... just not that way and... I thought, perhaps, I could learn...”

I kiss him this time; kiss him in the corner of his mouth, kiss him soundly and I don’t even care for the cat-calls and McGonagall’s loud _“khm!!”_ , because I’m kissing him for his bravery and his wonderful heart, and I’m kissing my dreams away.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “You’re the most wonderful friend one could ever have.”

He hugs me fiercely in response and there’s only so much I can do not to start sniffling again. Rose has no such reservations.

“Boys...” she mewls and as tough and no-nonsense as Rose Weasley is, I know she’s wiping her eyes under the table when she’s pretending to tie her shoe.

But I'm not really hungry anymore and I want to do this right, so I wait for the fiery cloud of her hair to peak from under the table and I ask her: “Where is he now, do you think?”

“Don't be too harsh on him,” she blurts out instead. “He's an idiot... but you don't know why he's done it. He's...”

“I know what he is,” I interrupt her, because I don't want to lose this sentiment that flows through me like firestorm, making me determined and focused on this one thing I need to do now: find Hugo Weasley. I can see how surprised, almost shocked she is, and Al, whom I finally let go off, is completely clueless, looking from one to another with a befuddled look on his face. But Rose finally decides that this is not a moment for interrogation and answers my question:

“It's too cold for a stroll at the lake. He's probably just in the Common room, trying to distract himself by planning this doom or another.”

I nod as in _“thank you”_ and when I get up, Al, who's clearly not in on the game, stops me by holding on to my hand: 

“We're good now, aren't we?” he says almost pleadingly and when I nod and smile into those lustrous green eyes, he returns me a shy smile and blurts: “I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. It's not only his fault, you know, so... don't hurt him. Much. He's my cousin and... he's not _so_ bad, just...”

“I'm not going to hurt him. Much,” I promise and get a relieved enthusiastic smile in return. As if I could. It's more likely to be the other way around if this doesn't work out the way I want it to. “I just want some answers and... look, I really need to go now, I'll explain later, yeah?” I say nervously, because this is kind of urgent - and of course, this is my Al, my very best friend on the planet, so he just nods obligingly and winks at me: “Spill it later, yeah?” before he pushes me gently towards the exit.

He's indeed there, in the darkest corner of the Gryffindor Common room, but now that I've got the fiery head and fierce eyes etched in my brain, I couldn't miss him in the middle of the bloody night. He's got one of them Muggle devices in front of him, I remember seeing it at Rose's place once or twice – something with two little nubs you put in your ears and there's a plastic rope you put in another device and it blares music straight in your ears without anyone else hearing it – and he's observing it carefully and scribbling something on a piece of parchment. His pretty, freckled face is thoughtful and frowning a bit and I find it bloody adorable, actually. There are two small lines on top of his prominent nose and I... well, I just want to kiss them away, the blasted fool that I am. I mean, who else but a complete moron would even consider kissing potentially the most dangerous and volatile person in this whole institution, most of the teachers withstanding?!

But now he notices me – well, it's kind of hard not to, since I've come to stand before him, blocking what little light he was getting – and those blue eyes grow big and somehow, incredibly, they turn all sapphire and alight at the sight of me as if someone lit a spark of life inside of Hugo Weasley.

“Malfoy...” he starts, but I interrupt him, since I've clearly thrown all my manners down the pit tonight, might as well throw this last bit to the dogs.

“I want to talk,” I tell him and add quickly: “Somewhere private.”

He stares into my eyes for a long moment and I fervently end up wishing I had taken my father's lessons on Legilimency more seriously, because I can't bloody read under that solemn expression on his face, can't read anything on it, and it's just god-awful frustrating, but then he nods almost imperceptibly as if he passed a decision and  he unexpectedly takes hold my hand. My hand simply disappears in his large palms and he's got the world's warmest, most soothing touch.

“Don't panic,” he warns me and I don't understand – until I see him twitch his wand almost casually and a second later the whole world around us seems to explode into chaos. There is a dreadful bang, followed by a horrendous crash and clouds of black smoke seem to be coming from every corner of the room... and I would have run, of course I would have, like any sane person would, like the rest of the population is running and panicking and screaming like the end of the fucking world came to the Gryffindor Common room – only I can't, because his hand holds me in spot, tight and solid, so I can't even move... but I know that it's going to be alright as long as he's there, even though the room has gone so dark that I can't even see him. Somehow, he makes me feel safe. The touch of his hand does... and, well, the knowledge that he's obviously behind this, doesn't hurt either.

When the smoke clears, we're all by ourselves – and voilà, instant privacy, courtesy of Hugo Weasley. Go figure.

But he gets up now and looms over me for a second, long enough for me to remember that he's taller and a Keeper and potentially menacing, not to mention raving mad, but he's still holding my hand, so there's nothing I can really do about any of these things, and now he pulls me behind him and speaks quickly:

“Hurry up, we need to go, they'll be here to investigate any time now. Your dorm, not mine, my bedroom will be the first one they'll check, and they don't know I've got access to yours.”

You know, even this morning the idea of someone as biblically destructive as Hugo Weasley having the inexplicable ability to enter and lurk about the room where I slumber happily under a delusion of safety, would be deeply disturbing – but right now the sight of him from behind - all broad shoulders, amazing arse and endless legs – and the concept of this... beast anywhere near my bed give me a different kind of shivers. For fuck's sake - I came here to get answers - and not those that have anything to do with the size of a certain... eee, body-part that may have crossed my thoughts this morning; no, nope, never! - but I seem to have already survived some sort of a cataclysmic event and now I'm being lead into my own bedroom like a sheep into a slaughterhouse – and where the fuck did all my control over the situation go, I ask you?! Gone, all gone! Having a nice romantic dinner with my sanity, it seems.

Goddamn, god-awful, god-sexy Hugo Weasley; father warned me to stay away from the freckly lot and kids, this is what you get if you don't listen to your pa: a gorgeous view of the best arse in England, who just happens to belong to the world's most demented, terribly confusing, most infuriating person ever. Seriously, you don't need this in your life. I, however...

My dorm's sleeping quarters are unoccupied, but they normally would be at this hour, it's nowhere near late enough for anyone to go to sleep and because half of the people are off to the Christmas holidays already, it was only Al and I to begin with. I've had such different plans for this little break, I think wistfully, remembering a boy from this morning, planning a long, quiet evening alone with Al, containing loads of smuggled alcohol and all that wonderful privacy – but once Hugo Weasley turns around, plopping across Al's bed casually, leaning on his elbows and I'm offered a sight of those long muscled limbs in their full glory... well, I'm not so sure my thoughts sound so wistful anymore. They're too busy melting into a goo at the sight of fabric stretched tightly around all the right parts and I might have to swallow a few times, to keep the worst of my drool back.

“You wanted to talk,” he reminds me in that warm, low voice and I desperately try to remember what the fuck it was that I wanted to talk to him about and it didn't involve “tight clothes” and “disappearing” in one sentence. Oh, yeah... Al, it was because of Al... goddammit, brain, work!

“Why did you do it?!” I blurt out before I could forget my own name along with the little fact that English is, in fact, my mother tongue. “Why did you put Al up to this... boyfriend thing?!”

He looks at me thoughtfully before he answers and there's an almost sad tinge somewhere at the bottom of those brilliant eyes.

“Just wanted to see you happy, I guess,” he shrugs at long last. “You've got that glow about you, when you're happy and it's just... lovely. But since you're here and not there, kissing his face off, I'm guessing it didn't work,” he concludes and at least has the decency of looking at his knees and not straight into my face.

“Of course it didn't work, you pillock!” I shout angrily, because anger at least gives me a semblance of control. “You can't make someone fall for you when you're gay enough to glow in the dark in all colours of the rainbow and they're the straightest fucking wand in the box, you dimwit!”

“Finally hit you, did it?” he murmurs and in a flash, I get a glimpse at how his strategic, risk-taking brain works and – what a snake!

“You only did it so I could have the experience and see it's not the real thing... you bastard,” I say breathless, but that's so bloody brilliant, I'm not even mad. Seriously, freckles and red hair aside, my grandfather Lucius might be willing to adopt this one. 

A small, dangerous smile appears in the corner of his pretty soft mouth and he shrugs leisurely, which probably counts as a full written confession in an intricate Hugo Weasley language:

“Could have lost. Could have been a real thing. I had to know,” he mumbles softly and when he lifts his brilliant eyes up to meet mine, I develop a sudden knot in my throat because... I know this is it: we're finally at the point where I either curse him and threaten him with my non-existent Death Eater-spawn experience if he ever pulls this kind of shit on me again – or I opt for asking him _why_ he had to know... and look, I know he's possibly a dangerous psychopath in the making, but the second option is still a far scarier one for me.

“You know, at the sorting... the Hat asked me, if I was willing to get hurt, if I was to be a Gryffindor,” he says quietly and I read his answer in those deep blue orbs before he says it out loud: “And I told him, at age 11, that there was nothing I can't take to be near you. So the way things were between you and Al... I got hurt. A lot.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out and I just look at him, look pleadingly and deeply into those brilliant eyes, suddenly alight with blue fire the way I've never seen them before – and because this is Hugo Weasley, I only ever had an illusion of control anyway. His wonderfully warm lips are on mine before I could make my move or utter another sound, except a moaning one, desperate one, straight into the silken, hot cave of his mouth and _godohgodohgod_ , the way he kisses! Merlin... I'm... Merlin...

I've only ever kissed Al, shyly, worrying all the time that it might not be too much, going too fast and too far – but there's none of that with him, because he's Hugo-fucking-Weasley, and he's fucked half of this school before he was 16, just because that's the way he is; taking what's his for the taking, living life to the fullest... and he still kisses like this was his first time, gently, sweetly, applying just the right pressure with those soft, fresh lips, begging access with a shy, tender tongue until I grant it and almost see black when he sweeps slowly, longingly across my mouth, taking my sanity and my loud moans with him.

“This?” he whispers and I only have the strength to nod before I plunge straight back into that addictive mouth that waits for me with all those unexpected treasures my shivering skin can't wait to explore.

“Stop me... just stop me... because I can't stop myself,” he whispers feverishly between those mind-boggling kisses that make every nerve in my body sparkle with lust and life and have me so eager that I can’t recognise myself. I don’t know what this is, I’ve never felt something so brutal and... consuming and... intense in my life, but I literally want to tear his clothes off and have myself fucked into the mattress. The little bastard just got more than he bargained for, because it’s going to take a whole of him, however magnificent he is, to put out that Fiendfyre he started under my skin, charring me from inside, burning my pride, my shyness and my shame, all my frustration and every last bit of restraint to cinders.

“I want you,” I tell him, because, you know, I’m older and I should be in charge... even though I’m only playing, because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and he’s clearly the experienced one – but he as good as told me that he had a crush on me since he was bloody 11 years old and I think he could take some bossing around for once. “Fuck me,” I whisper into his mouth, because there’s no other thing that I can give him that would tell him just how badly I need to relinquish my slipping control to him. “Fuck me, Hugh, fuck me... I need you to... I need you to be my first...”

And then I have a small pleasure of hearing Hugo Weasley, the biggest badass I'm ever likely to come across, whimper quietly into my mouth:

“Fuck... Scorpius... please... I’ve been wanting to... so badly... for years... you... you’re all I ever wanted... so beautiful... the only one... only one for me... But I’m not Al... I can’t do this... if this is about Al...”

He’s lying on top of me now and his bulging cock is rubbing against my own painfully strained one through two sets of school trousers and I can’t think... I can’t think anything beyond _“want... need... please...”_ and even when he says his desperate little speech with those impossibly blue set on my own, I can’t seem to scrap enough of my melted brain together to give him any kind of decent answer – other than the simple, raw truth I blurt out:

“I want you... This need... it goes beyond anything I ever felt for Al... you know, this way... Because... I... this is real, you’re real... and I really need you to fuck me right now... and I’ll scream your name all the way through if that’s what it takes to make you see that this is really, _really_ about you, Hugo Weasley. I will, I swear to God I will... just... fuck me... fuck me, you beautiful bastard... fuck me, for fuck’s sake, I can’t go without any longer... Hugh... please... ohhhh!!!”

I get to see his eyes light up like stars and then he does it, you know... because he’s Hugo Weasley and there’s no stopping him. I don’t even blink and I’m rid of clothes, he tears them off as if they’re a personal offence to him and suddenly he’s all over me, all naked, wonderfully hot skin and decadent mouth feeding on my pulse, sucking and licking the tender skin until it makes me keen and I offer the virgin landscape of my neck to him freely to have it marked, because I want all the fucking world to know that he's owned me.

He whispers quiet, feverish truths and obscenities against my skin, making it flush with a violent surge of blood and horrible want – he’s got most god-awful filthy mouth and he says... things, stuff, I’m even ashamed to think... “I want to lick you from head to toe, my precious silver-eyed prince... lave your toes with my tongue and nibble on those hard, pebbled nubs... and everything in between...” he tells me and the very idea of the fiery head hovering above my body with indecent intentions and finally sinking into me viciously makes melts me into mewling.

“I’ll suck on every inch of that marble skin you own, you gorgeous, haughty bastard... until it’s pink with your need and fucking _ruined_ with my mouth,” he promises me and he makes good of his words, too, so what comes out of his mouth next, is just an accurate description of me finally losing my marbles under his masterful tongue and giving into my carnal desires with no reservations. “You like turning all slutty under me, you beautiful... untouchable... horny little saint, don’t you?” he smiles into my eagerness and he looks every bit a fallen creature he is, those blue eyes smiling with a sinful, daring spark. “Writhing against me like this... like you need it... oh, yeah... my debauched, insatiable little angel... let me wake up the devil in you, my sweet little incubus...”

His large hands are on my arse now and he’s got me pined underneath him, our cocks mashed and dancing together, all silken, hot skin and leaking hardness; and I hook my legs behind his back to bring us closer as he kneads my arse with merciless hands, hissing angrily “...teasing me, for years and years and years, with that perfect round, fuckable butt under those perfectly ironed school trousers... you have no idea how hard I am around you... no idea at all... I’m solid, you stunning little cock-tease, so fucking hard I have to work myself under the table... in the Great Hall... to get some of the tension out...”

And it’s really that image that gets me in the end, because I want it to be true, because I'm desperate for someone to want me that much that they can’t hold back, not even a moment longer.

“I’ll suck you off,” he whispers. “You'll find me under the table in the Great Hall and I'll bury my head in your lap and suck you until you’re biting your beautiful, tempting lips bloody and choking on your food trying to hold back and I won’t stop until I’ve got that sweet thick milk of yours dripping from your bursting cock and you'll turn into cream in my mouth...”

And just like that, my body arches off the mattress with a force I have no control over and I explode into darkness, yelping for him, spilling all over him, his gorgeous tight cock bathing in my come for a single abandoned moment, until he bites into that tender spot between my neck and my shoulder and violently comes with a shout of my name, “Scorp!!... please... oh, fuck!”, as if he could barely make it past seeing my release.

And I'm dead. Just like that. I must be. What else could this be but Heaven? I'm... well, I can't even think what I am... because I'm so... dead... and boneless... and happy... crazy, impossibly happy... like a small plush kitten stretching in its basket after a perfect sleep at the thought of new adventures... Because I've got another one planned right after this one. As soon as my numb, dead limbs wake up and do my bidding... and he stops panting and trembling... and looking so goddamn beautiful with pearly drops of perspiration and come running down his body and that absolutely ecstatic, winning smile stretching across his face.

We can't stop doing it. It's all I know. We can't. I'll die... or something. I’ll die, if I don't get more. I might also die _of_ more, my drumming, surging heart, trying to exit my chest tells me, but hey, that's just details for you. I'm possibly dead already, remember? So we need to keep doing this... He needs to teach me, show me everything... and if he even _looks_ at another person... The surge of emotion inside of me at the unsettling, preposterous thought is so strong that I suddenly realize what it means to be a Malfoy. It's pure proprietary _“Mine!!!”_ of a true Malfoy and - Gryffindor or not – I'm suddenly my father's son to the bone. And we don't share. Ever.

“You OK?” he mumbles against the vein in my neck and somehow it surprises – and melts me a little - that he cares. He’s still covering me from head to toe; his head buried into my hot, tired, utterly debauched flesh and he can’t see the blissful expression on my face, I know he can’t, or there would be no need to ask.

But I haven’t got the energy for a proper answer, so I just nod and feel the tense muscles in his back relax a little. He’s a lot of dead weight to take, but somehow I don’t mind it, it feels nice and... strangely right like this, as if he doesn’t need to do much more to put his claim on me than to just lie on top of me, sheltering me, being taller and wonderfully warm.

“Want more...” I mumble barely intelligibly, because my – dead, remember? – brain is none too eager to cooperate with my mouth – but I really need to tell him this before he falls under any kind of delusion that this was just once and it’s over now. “Want you...” I add, because somehow, inexplicably, I know he needs to hear it and I know it’ll make him happy. For a while he doesn’t say anything and I’m beginning to feel the first drips of insecurity pour through the cracks of my sex-induced self-confidence. What if he really, honestly doesn’t want me – and this was just a game?

My heart flutters wildly, painfully in my chest and it’s not until this very moment that I realize how very much I want to belong... but now he lifts his pretty face up to look straight into my eyes and when I drown in the sea of blue - I know I’ve got nothing to fear.

“I want no one but you,” he says quietly. “Never did. Others were just... practice. For this, for you. I want to go exclusive. Only you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Well, fuck... here he is, not wanting to leave and here I am, not wanting him to leave – so I guess I'm stuck with him. Merlin's knickers, what an... unhealthy choice. My only choice. Mine. Well, I might as well kiss my perfect eyebrows goodbye, I can't see them surviving too many of his mad experiments if I'm going to be spending more time around him. Talking of experiments, though...

“I think I might need a bit more persuasion,” I say innocently and offer him the sweetest, slyest, most seductive smile in my repertoire. “After all, this was only my first... Have you got any more where that came from?” I blink and slide my curious, wandering finger down his toned torso, collecting the pearly drops of perspiration on the way. Oh, boy, just look at him, look at him! I'm so doomed, he makes my loins stir just with the way he smells, and when he rolls off me and stretches that endless perfection he has for a body, smiling leisurely, blissfully, I kind of forget that I'm supposed to win this _“want you-don't want you”_ charade and my breath hitches to high heaven and my fingers itch to have a go at that divine body, glittering like virgin surface of sunlit snow in the candlelight.

“All yours,” he says softly. “Always was.”

And I want it so bloody much that my hands are shaking and that I'm holding myself back on purpose, because I might just ruin this moment of perfection and intimacy I so crave with my stupid inexperience and clumsy eagerness – and somehow he reads my mind and smiles at me softly, reassuringly.

“Just take it slow, yeah?” he lovingly fixes a loose lock of hair behind my ear and then casually brings my hand to his mouth – and slowly, with deliberate tenderness, sucks two of my fingers in. And I swear it goes straight to my cock. I mewl most embarrassingly and my heartbeat attempts to break my chest open and I know... I just _know_ I'll fuck this up, because... fuck my life, yeah... and there's no way I can live up to his expectations.

“I don't know anything!” I blurt out in panic because this is too damn urgent and he has to understand that I want to, oh, I want to so badly, but I don't know how, not the way he wants me to, surely and I...

 _“Yet,”_ he says quietly, passionately, letting go of my fingers and sweeping his mouth across my lips instead. “You don't know anything yet... and there was a time, not so long ago, when I didn't either,” he whispers into my mouth between the sweetest, most alluring kisses. “Just know this: you can't do anything wrong when it comes to me. I find you...  irresistible. If I could choose between you and any other bloody person on this planet, experienced or not, you win every time. I want no one but you, Scorpius Malfoy,” he breathes into the shell of my ear and I know there's a quiet confession of stubborn love hidden right underneath the thin veneer of that careful wording, designed not to scare me away – and I think I might love him a little bit for that.

Of course I cannot tell him that right away; no, I'm a Malfoy, for fuck's sake and we don't profess our undying love after our first... oh, whatever this was, no matter how... spectacular it was and how aching it left me... No, I really can't, I should at least wait until our second, perhaps a third time....  Oh, fuck it, by the way we're going, we'll probably end up engaged by the morning anyway and - all my usual, rotten luck aside – I can't really bring myself to lament it. But I don't say it. Yet. You see, I'm kind of too busy moaning out all my filthy desires with no reservations whatsoever when I finally feel that large, wet, hungry mouth close around my cock and I see stars as it begins working me into an utter whimpering mess most heavenly. So, no. Not yet. But soon, oh, yeah... _ohmerlingodandchrist,_ Hugh... soon.

 

 


End file.
